


Two Moms Are Better Than One

by WhyDoIWrite



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Babies, Breakfast in Bed, F/F, Lesbian Relationship, Marriage, Mother's Day, NWSL, Perfect life, Pregnancy, Sprinkle of love and a touch of kindess, USWNT, happy wife happy life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24110794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDoIWrite/pseuds/WhyDoIWrite
Summary: A glimpse into Mother's Day in the Sonnett-Horan household.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	Two Moms Are Better Than One

“Momma Momma Momma Momma Momma!” The word increases in volume and excitement, stirring Lindsey awake, as two pairs of little bare feet come pattering down the hall. The bedroom door is thrown open…

And then, in an instant, that beautiful sound of Lilly calling her name over and over is replaced by screaming and crying and Emily clambering to set down breakfast trays on their ironing board and swooping in to grab Lincoln half a second before he pulls Lilly’s hair. Which is an improvement from when he used to bite. He seems to have passed that coping mechanism onto Lilly now. Or maybe he just grew out of it and she grew into it. Two kids in, Emily’s still not too sure.

“We were supposed to surprise her, Lilly!” he whines. “Mommy said QUIETLY walk down the hall and QUIETLY open the door. You RUINED Momma’s Mother’s Day. It’s not a surprise at all now!” He’s full on crying. Their beautiful, sensitive boy, who only listens to instructions when it suits him. Today, it apparently suited him, and now he’s crushed.

For her part, Lilly seems unconcerned about whether breakfast in bed is a surprise or not, because she’s already jumping on the bed and Emily’s looking on, panicked that Lilly’s going to land on Lindsey’s stomach, but it’s probably not safe for her to let go of Linc just yet to grab Lilly. It's Emily's fault, really. She's the one that taught the kids that a bed is just an inside trampoline. “Happy Mother’s Day, Linds,” she says with a little laugh, a little bit sarcastically, and a little bit apologetically, because it’s already off to a stellar start.

Yep. This disaster is more like their typical morning. But it’s beautiful, and it’s all Lindsey never knew she wanted. Besides, sleeping in on Mother’s Day is a myth anyway. 

* * *

Their first Mother’s Day, Linc woke up crying at 4:30 because they still hadn’t figured out that Emily’s egg consumption was contributing to his colic. Their second Mother’s Day, Emily woke up before 8 am to the smell of something burning, and wandered into the kitchen to find that Lindsey, with Linc in the Tula on her back, had burned both the bacon and the pancakes. “It’s cause you cook on torch,” she grinned, and with a hip check, bumped Lindsey out of the way to clean up.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you." Tears filled Lindsey's eyes.

“Baby, you’re already doing the most wonderful thing ever for me. For us,” Emily said, kissing Lindsey long and slow, and then placing a gentle hand on her stomach. She raised up on her tippy toes to lean over Lindsey’s shoulder and blow a kiss into Linc’s cheek, and the most delightful squeal of laughter filled their kitchen. “Momma’s giving you a baby brother or sister so you have a friend for life, Lincy!” Then, pressing her forehead into Lindsey’s, she added, “Waffle House is the best place to spend Mother’s Day!” And Lindsey’s positive pregnancy test the two days earlier was the best gift they could have received.

* * *

Lindsey finally gets Lilly to stop jumping on the bed and cuddle with her instead, and Emily breathes a sigh of relief. In her arms, she feels Linc breathe one, too. Squeezing him always makes him settle. Eventually. He actually reminds Emily of Lindsey in so many ways – especially how fiery he is – but the way he calms, hugged tightly in someone’s arms, is Emily to a T. When they were having so much trouble with him, when toys and distractions and funny faces wouldn’t work, it was Lindsey who figured it out, wrapping him up and pulling him into her chest until he could breathe normally again. 

The same way she held Emily when she found out she didn’t make the National Team roster in 2017. Lindsey was the only one Emily called that day, and she rushed over to Emily’s Portland apartment and held her without saying a word.

The same way she held Emily when she found out she got traded to the Pride and it felt like both their lives would be unbearable for a while. 

The same way she had to hold Emily when she finally admitted she was in love with Emily. She thought Emily was going to hyperventilate right there in front of her. It took until their second season apart for Lindsey to realize it, but when Emily showed up at her door after arriving in Portland for their game, Lindsey felt like a ball had hit her in the gut and knocked the wind out of her. And Emily’s smile, that soft smile she missed so much, almost knocked her to her knees. She supposed she had always known, but in that moment, there was no denying she was in love with her Sonny. That hug had to be tight enough to make up for all the years they had lost to Lindsey’s stubborn denial. 

The same way she held Emily when it became clear that a national team comeback after Linc was born wasn't a reality; still getting to play for Atlanta, and the fact that it was Emily’s decision to carry didn’t make the reality any easier.

“It’s ok, baby,” Lindsey motions Lincoln to her other side, cuddling him, too.

“But she ruined your surprise,” he mumbles sadly. His chin quivers the same way Emily’s used to when she was trying not to cry.

“No, baby. The surprise was my two babies running down the hall to wake me up. It was the _best_ surprise.”

“And you have other surprises for her Linc." There's flowers, homemade coupons, a hand print card, and jewelry waiting still. "Let’s make it a good day,” Emily adds. “Show Momma what you made her for breakfast.”

“Pannacakes, eggies, bacon oink oink,” Lilly jumps in, copying Emily’s attempt to turn someone else in the family vegetarian by explaining to the kids that bacon comes from cute pigs. It been effective so far with Lil. 

“Mommy,” Linc wails with all of Lindsey’s dramatics, distraught that his younger sister has taken over this important announcement, too.

“Lil, come sit with me for a minute,” Emily says, as Lindsey gets up and gets her breakfast tray, sitting back down on the bed, next to Linc.

“Ok, baby,” she says patiently, “show me what you made.”

He goes through everything, pointing out all the intricate details of heart-shaped pancakes with chocolate chips, every berry he’s placed on the plate, and the amount of syrup he used, and he lets her know that _he_ was the one who decided to make her pancakes red because red is her favorite color, but that Mommy wouldn’t let him use enough food coloring to make them red so now they’re pink, which he was exceptionally disappointed about so he added extra strawberries, including one in Lindsey’s orange juice. And, he makes sure she knows that he added a sprinkle of love and a touch of kindness to her coffee, "just like Mommy does." He rambles just like Emily. Rose called him verbose last year after the Atlanta-Columbus game, and now he calls himself verbose when the trainer stares him down as he drones on and on about the supplies and equipment in the training room. Lindsey looks up at Emily who’s beaming at her. “Thank you,” she mouths, and Emily winks.

“What color did you make Mommy’s pancakes?” Lindsey asks. 

“Wed,” Lilly shouts.

“Why red?”

“Because Mommy said that you look beautiful in red so red is her favorite color, too. Also, she wanted peanut butter chips, so they’re the same but different,” Linc explains.

“I said that Momma looks beautiful in every color, but she looks the _most_ beautiful in red, so red’s my favorite,” Emily clarifies.

They sit there, the four of them, this perfect but not quite complete family, eating breakfast on top of the blankets, and Lindsey watches as Emily lets both kids devour her pancakes because “Momma’s tummy needs the extra food, don’t eat hers.”

And after, their exchange of presents turns into a game because Lilly thought hiding their presents would make for some fun since “Hide ‘n’ seek is your favorite game, Mommy.”

It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon. Until one present is still missing – a small box – that only contains a diamond tennis bracelet for Lindsey. Under her breath, Emily grumbles that soccer is her favorite game, not hide ‘n’ seek, but outwardly, all she says is, “No big deal, you’ll remember where you put it eventually, Lil. Right?”

And Lindsey jokingly complains that this child is a mini-Emily and that this is exactly what Jane meant when she described Emily as a difficult toddler, and Emma as the easy one. 

It doesn't matter who carried them.

* * *

Just after 9:30, Emily finally comes to bed. “Ohmygod, getting her to sleep is exhausting,” she groans, rubbing her eyes and falling in next to Lindsey. “This is it. We’re done at three, right?" She doesn’t think she can handle many more years of the consequences of all the failed attempts to sneak out.

“Stop acting like we didn’t plan this,” Lindsey laughs. “We could have stopped at one. Or two. This wasn’t a surprise.”

Emily knows this. But she feels like every good thing that’s ever happened to her in her whole life has been a surprise of sorts.

Making the full National Team, when she thought her dream ended with the Youth Team.

Winning a World Cup and Olympic gold. As a starter.

Lindsey actually loving her back, 5 years late, but with perfect timing.

Lindsey dropping down on one knee – sweaty, bruised, and bleeding from a cut on her leg that she sustained when Emily slide tackled her – and proposing after a game. It was in front of enough people it might have well been in front of the whole world. It was everything in a proposal Emily thought she never wanted, and yet is was the most perfect moment of their lives together up to that point. And that unprompted midnight phone call to Lindsey’s agent that followed, when Lindsey woke him up to tell him him to inform the NWSL that if they weren’t in the same city next season, they’d go sign somewhere in Europe together, was almost as big of a surprise.

The words “I do,” leaving Lindsey’s lips, because it wasn’t real until then. The church, the dress, everything, it still felt like Lindsey could back out at any second and take everything good with her, until she said those words.

Every positive pregnancy test. Planning it, everything they had to go through to make it happen each time, just made those two lines even sweeter, but nothing could take away the shock Emily felt. 

“We’re done,” Emily says with confidence. “That’s why you’re carrying this one.”

“It was your turn, technically,” Lindsey grumbles.

“Technically, but you’re so beautiful pregnant and you make beautiful babies.”

Lindsey laughs. Their kids look so much alike that no one has ever assumed they weren’t 100% related. The question is always “Who carried?” not “Who carried whom?” No one seems perceptive enough to see the slight downturn of Lincoln’s nose and the point of his chin, or the upturn of Lilly’s nose and her higher cheekbones. "We both make beautiful babies."

"Fine, but Lilly is so much easier. You make _calmer_ babies," Emily argues. And it's true. Lilly is mischievous, but in a sweet way, and calm all day, until bedtime. She doesn't share Lincoln's (and Lindsey’s) intensity – and intensity is a great quality – until things go wrong, and things go wrong for kids pretty often. He can't handle coloring outside the lines, wants to practice cradling the ball until he gets it just right even though that skill is far too advanced for him, and threw every book he owned off the balcony of their staircase when he couldn't beat Perfection. All Lindsey can do is call her mom and ask how she handled Lindsey's childhood rage, but Linda just laughs and says, "This is nothing. Wait til Lilly is a teenager. _That'll_ be something." And then she tells Lindsey to give the phone to her precious grandson because he can’t possibly be acting like the monster Lindsey is describing.

"My mom keeps trying to remind you that I was an awful teenager. This may backfire on you," Lindsey warns.

"I don't need her reminding. I knew you as a teenager. I was at that Youth camp with you and you were a b- "

"Hey!" Lindsey jumps in. "You can't talk about the mother of your children like that." And under her breath, she adds, "we weren't even at the same camp, but it’s cute that you still think we were.”

"I was just going to say you were a beautiful girl, and I could see right through that facade. All your bit- rudeness and um, passion,” Emily says carefully, “were a mask because you were nervous and you wanted to do so well. But underneath, you were just this super sweet, shy girl." Emily kisses Lindsey’s stomach. “I can’t wait to meet you,” she says, too loudly, because she wants to make sure the baby hears her. And Lindsey plays with the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck as Emily recites Green Eggs and Ham to their baby growing in Lindsey’s stomach, because Emily swears reading to the baby in utero is important for language development.

Lindsey isn’t listening to the words. She probably has the book unintentionally memorized by now, too. She can only see part of Emily’s face and that bun that she’d recognize anywhere, and her mind drifts to their life together. 

* * *

Emily has made things Lindsey didn’t even know were her dreams come true. She’s given Lindsey a life she had never even envisioned as a possibility. Every day, Lindsey has to remind herself that this is real. She got _this_ lucky to have _this_ woman love her through all the years that Lindsey didn’t love her in return, to wait until Lindsey was ready. This woman, who ended every conversation with her for over four years, in person or on the phone, with “I love you,” until one day, Lindsey realized that she didn’t just love Emily too, she was _in_ love with Emily, in a way she had never been with anyone else.

She didn’t know back then that she had picked the best partner she could have ever asked for – professionally, in marriage, in parenting. Back then, all she knew is she wanted to feel Emily’s lips on hers and Emily’s hands on her hips, and she wanted to taste Emily and never forget the way Emily looked at her as she undressed. 

She didn’t know that without hesitation, when they started talking about kids, Emily would offer to be the one to carry so Lindsey could keep playing a little longer, squeeze in one more World Cup and Olympic cycle.

She didn’t know what it would mean to her soul to find that blonde bun in the stands before the World Cup final, knowing they shared Sonnett-Horan on the back of the jerseys they were both wearing. 

She didn’t know the kind of pride and awe she would feel when her wife powered through a 15 hour unmedicated labor with Lincoln. In all of Emily’s softness and humor, somehow Emily’s toughness had been lost on Lindsey until that moment.

She didn’t know that less than a year later, Emily handing 9-month-old Lincoln down to her on the field would feel better than the gold medal around her neck.

She didn’t know how much her love for Emily would grow as she watched her become a parent. Emily grew into a new person, more protective - of Lindsey too - more attentive. She woke up for every feeding and diaper change after giving birth, insisting that Lindsey needed to sleep because she had training still. She woke up for every feeding and diaper change after Lindsey gave birth, looking on with eyes full of gratitude and steadfast love, while Lindsey held their beautiful baby to her breast, and waiting up until she could change Lilly's diaper. There’s never been a time when Emily’s been too tired to play or read or go for a walk, even when she went back to playing in the NWSL. And she raises them everyday, through the example of how she treats them and Lindsey, to be kind and loving and gentle. Lindsey has no idea what their lives have in store for them, but she is certain that they will be good to their cores, just like their Mommy.

She should have known that they would have complimented each other perfectly in parenting as they did in life – Emily fun, always silly, but with firm expectations of how things should be, and Lindsey soft and forever comforting. They run to Emily when they were looking for excitement, gravitate towards her on special days because there was always something different they’ll get to do, whether it’s a glow-in-the-dark Easter egg hunt or Leprechauns leaving gold coins for them to find, and honestly, Emily really is the reason for the present hide-and-seek this morning. They run to Lindsey when they need comfort and reassurance, when a knee is scraped or a tummy is upset or a kid at school says that God doesn’t like families with two moms or two dads. Atlanta's liberal enough, but there are still _those_ people around, and those people have kids who go to Lincoln's school.

* * *

Apparently, Emily’s finished the book, because she presses a soft kiss into Lindsey’s thigh before sitting back up. “I love you. Goodnight,” she says, and Lindsey has no idea if Emily’s talking to her or their baby, but Emily’s fingers trail too high on her leg, and it's distracting, so she doesn't ask. “Babe,” Lindsey whines, “you can’t touch me like that and then go to sleep. The hormones.”

Emily lays back down, propping herself up on an elbow. “Like what?” she asks innocently enough, letting fingertips travel farther up Lindsey’s thigh to the sound of Lindsey drawing in a sharp breath. “Like this?” she asks, brushing her thumb over Lindsey’s clit through her panties. 

“Em,” Lindsey moans.

“Guess so,” Emily mumbles against Lindsey’s underwear, and then she hooks her fingers in the waistband, dragging them down. Her lips trail back up, leaving wet kisses along the inside of Lindsey’s leg, and she pushes Lindsey’s shirt up.

“Gentle, baby,” Lindsey whispers, as Emily finds her nipples. She runs her fingers through Emily’s hair. “So sensitive.” Emily runs her tongue over Lindsey’s nipple just right and Lindsey’s hips buck up, finding Emily’s thigh. “Em, I don’t need- just- ” and just like that, Emily’s head is ducking back down, lips kissing Lindsey’s stomach, and finally landing right where Lindsey wants them. And then a funny memory fills Lindsey’s brain, one that she can’t shake. She doesn’t mean for it to distract Emily, but it’s too good not to say aloud. “Remember when you were afraid to fuck me with the strap-on because you said you might hit the baby’s head?” Lindsey bursts out laughing.

Emily stops and picks her head up. “Listen, this state didn’t have comprehensive sex ed back when I was in school,” she says flatly, her eyebrows raising slightly in annoyance. “I didn’t want to hurt you, or the baby. I didn’t want the baby to see anything.” 

“But like, you already had a baby. You _knew_!” Lindsey can’t stop laughing and Emily flicks her off. 

“Is this what you want me to do with my finger or?”

That enough to make Lindsey at least decide to _try_ to stop laughing. “No,” she sputters. And she just points Emily back to where she needs to go.

But a few moments later, Emily’s head pops back up and she wipes off her mouth. “Remember when you wouldn’t go down on me towards the end of my pregnancy because you said you’d give me too many orgasms and I’d go into early labor.”

She stopped for that. Lindsey thinks she might kill her wife because she was so fucking close and that’s what she stopped to say. “Ok, firstly, that’s fucking legit,” Lindsey huffs, shoving Emily’s head back between her legs. “And secondly, if you stop again when I'm about to come, you’re never going to have another one.”

This is their life. The crying and screaming and narrowly averted injuries. The too-early mornings and sleepless nights where before they know it, the goddamn sun is already coming up and it’s time to go again. Their house filled with noise and dog hair and toys that they’ll never find all the pieces to. A sex life that’s still so good, but also so worth joking about. Lindsey as the WAG for the last few of years, dragging babies to Emily’s games, and watching them run amok on the field afterwards. Backyard ducks pooping on their deck because Lincoln can’t eat chicken eggs. Never-ending loads of cloth diapers because “cloth diapers are softer on a baby’s bottom and are better for promoting potty training.” This is their perfectly imperfect life that Lindsey wouldn’t trade for anything.


End file.
